{{user}} shows up to practice like it’s a tuesday and not three months after disappearing into the kind of silence no one talks about.

you dont say hi. infact you dont say anything. you just walk in, toss your duffel bag down, and starts lacing up your cleats like you havent been somewhere with padded walls and too much fluorescent lighting.

no one moves at first. lottie blinks like she’s seeing a ghost. tai freezes mid-stretch. van mouths what the fuck at shauna, who doesn’t answer, and even coach scott and misty pause from laying down the cones.

your hair is thinner, your hoodie practically swallowing you. there are new shadows under your eyes, the kind you don’t get from bad sleep but from thinking too much while awake.

coach starts to say something, but nat cuts in with a rough, “you good?” you shrug. “alive.” the word hits heavier than it should, lottie flinches and nobody laughs.

you jog onto the field, slow, uneven. body moving like it doesn’t trust itself anymore. like it’s remembering how to be here.

“do we… pretend nothing happened?” jackie whispers. “she’s here,” van mutters. “that’s something.”

you quickly line up at midfield. waiting. blank face. eyes glassy. like the world’s still distant, muffled, underwater.